Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus
by Rumour of an Alchemist
Summary: Alternate Universe. It's September 1991, Hogwarts has recently come under new management, and the headmaster intends to carry out the sorting of the new first years in person... One Shot. Non-canon magical being. Minor tidying of some sentences, March 2013.


(minor rephrasing of sections, March, 2013)

Disclaimer: I am not J K Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter.

Note: The following is set in an alternate universe where at the end of the 1990-1991 term, Hogwarts came under new management. The new management is distinctly non-canon.

* * *

"I hope we don't have to wrestle a troll." Ronald Bilius Weasley shifted nervously from foot to foot.

The first years had disembarked from the boats and been led down a winding tunnel, lit by occasional fiery torches, to a pair of iron-banded oak double-doors which looked practically new.

"I heard it's a hat which sorts you." a blond boy called Ernie Macmillan said, confidently.

"Yeh, but that was under the _old_ regime, and the last headmaster." one of Draco Malfoy's two thickset companions said. "Now that Dumbledore's gone, who can tell what the new headmaster will do?"

"I still wish I knew who this 'Smaugufolterix' is?" Draco said. "My father's made quite detailed enquiries, but can't find out anything about the man. His name sounds foreign." Draco glanced at Ron. "Why are you so twitchy, anyway, Weasley? It's just a name."

"I heard what happened at the end of last school year was somehow Fred and George's fault." Ron said miserably. "They were in St. Mungo's for the first half of the summer holidays, in the serious injuries ward. They'd both lost their hair and were horribly bandaged for the first fortnight. And when their hair _did_ grow back, it was white, and they're not the same as they used to be. They're under some sort of magical oaths not to say anything about it, too."

"That's quite enough chatter." Professor McGonagall abruptly returned. "The new headmaster is waiting to personally sort you now." She pointed her wand and the doors opened. "Go on through."

The new first years headed through the doors.

* * *

On the other side of the doors was a large cavern, with several goblins seated at desks piled with papers located here and there around the edge. There were occasional flickering torches on the walls of the cavern, but most of the illumination in it came from the absolutely *HUGE* pile of gold, jewels, and other precious objects heaped in the centre, and the absolutely motionless form of something which looked to Harry very like a large dragon sprawled atop the pile.

"Why would anyone make a sculpture of a dragon that size?" another first year asked – a dark-haired boy. He studied it and frowned. "It's far too large and not even anatomically correct. I mean it shouldn't have four legs and wings arranged like…"

"Terry. There's…" A different first year had grabbed Terry by the sleeve, trying to get his attention.

Then the 'sculpture' stirred, steam issued forth from its nostrils, and the eyes snapped open, as the head turned to look at the new first years.

Several dozen first-years simultaneously screamed, shrieked, or whimpered in terror, as the _fear_ of the thing washed over them, but for a few moments they were rooted to the spot by that same petrifying emotion. During those few moments, the doors they had come through boomed shut.

"Boot, Terry – Ravenclaw." the dragon snarled, its voice rolling around the cavern like thunder.

Terry Boot – apparently the pupil who had just been commenting on how 'unrealistic' the dragon looked – fainted clean away. Professor McGonagall splashed a jet of cold water all over the fallen pupil's face with a flick of her wand, causing him to revive.

"Does anyone else have any clever observations which they wish to make?" the dragon raked the crowd of frightened children with its gaze.

"Are you the new headmaster, sir?" Hermione Granger raised a hand and quavered.

"Granger, Hermione." the dragon narrowed its eyes and pinned her with a 'look'. "Hmm. Possibilities. You're going into Slytherin, Granger, because I feel like shaking things up. And yes I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"But… but Granger's a mud…" Draco began and trailed off as the headmaster turned his gaze on him.

"Malfoy, Draco. Not much of a 'dragon' to look at, are you?" the dragon said witheringly. "Would you rather go into Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, Malfoy?"

"My father…" Draco began.

"I gather that your father is reasonably _wealthy_ for a human, and I would be _very_ happy to discuss any displeasure he has at my placement of you in a house with him in person. Of course, were he to insult me and to meet with a tragic demise in the process, since you are not of age, under the conventions of interaction between witches and wizards and _true_ fire-drakes the entirety of the Malfoy family wealth would become _mine_." the dragon said. "I look forward to his possible future company. In the meantime, which of those two houses would you prefer to be in, Malfoy?"

Draco hesitated, and bit his lip.

"Gryffindor, Sir."

"Very good, Malfoy, and Gryffindor, by your own word, you are now placed in. Your loyal retainers, Goyle, Gregory, and Crabbe, Vincent can go into Hufflepuff, however – for that is where the loyal should find their place, is it not?"

Neither Draco nor either of his companions dared argue.

* * *

The dragon continued to sort the pupils, picking them seemingly at random in no obvious order. Somehow, it seemed to know all their names. At times the sortings made a kind of sense to Harry from what he might be able to see about a pupil from how they looked and acted. At other times the sortings seemed to be whimsical and intended to be purely perverse.

"Weasley, Ronald: You have the look of a chess player and strategist. Ravenclaw for you." the dragon assigned. "I expect to hear that you are studying hard, however, otherwise I shall invite you down here for a chat to discuss the situation. Do you understand, Weasley?"

"Yes, Sir." Ron gulped.

The pupils remaining unsorted in the crowd diminished. Harry noticed that one of the goblins behind desks scribbled away every time the headmaster pronounced a house. Apparently he was taking note of where pupils were placed, and any sundry comments the headmaster might make.

"Longbottom, Neville." the dragon said. It stared at Longbottom _thoughtfully_, for what seemed several seconds, whilst Neville practically shook in his shoes. "You're interesting, Longbottom." It sniffed the air. "The previous headmaster had plans that might have figured you. Such schemes are tedious to me however, and whilst I might place you several ways, I smell Granger and a toad on you, and I think it best," and it actually _laughed_ here – a terrifying sound, which shook the cavern like a hurricane "to sort you into Slytherin." It stopped laughing and glanced at Professor McGonagall. "What I taste of Mr. Longbottom's wand in the air seems at odds with his character, however." the dragon said distastefully. "Please see to it that someone takes him to Diagon Alley to get a replacement before the week is out."

The professor nodded, and said: "Yes headmaster." in a grim tone of voice.

* * *

At last the dragon got around to Harry.

"Potter, Harry." the dragon turned its awful gaze upon him, and as it stared into his eyes, Harry felt as if every thought and feeling that he'd ever had was laid bare. He swayed, and would have fainted if it were not for that fact that that same gaze somehow held him both upright and looking back at the dragon. "Finally, I sort 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'. An ironically appropriate nickname, given that apart from running and hiding, that's about _all_ that you _do_ do when you're not being a good little hardworking house-elf for your aunt. Hufflepuff for you, Potter."

The dragon looked away from Harry, and he actually collapsed to his knees, in relief.

"I grow weary of human company." the dragon addressed the cavern in general. "The sorting is done now, Professor McGonagall – I'm tempted to reinstate the hat, but I have of course set a precedent now, and I suppose I'm going to be stuck with this duty in future years. Remove these children upstairs to the castle, and commence whatever feast or other frivolities are supposed to accompany this evening. And children: note that if I have word of persistent rule-breaking, you will be invited down here to discuss it, and that long, irksome, conversations, make me _peckish_."

"There is that journalist from the _Prophet_ hanging around waiting for an interview with you, headmaster." Professor McGonagall said, as she started to shepherd the children towards a door set into a different part of the cavern from the entrance they had come in by.

"Skeeter. I hadn't forgotten, and I can scent her from here, through three doors and down a couple of passageways. If it weren't necessary to get something out in the news to the wizarding public now that the term has commenced, and silence is no longer a practicable option… Bah!"

The dragon snarled irritably, and for a moment smoke hissed between its teeth.

Professor McGonagall as rapidly as it was possible to achieve whilst maintaining a semblance of decorum, got the children out of the cavern.

"A dragon." said a new Hufflepuff by the name of Kevin Entwhistle as they stumbled up a seemingly endless flight of stairs away from the dragon and its hoard. "I can't believe the school's being run now by a dragon. How did it happen, Professor McGonagall."

"Are you aware of the school motto, Mr. Entwhistle?" Professor McGonagall queried.

"'Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus'." Ernie quoted. "Roughly: 'The dragon sleeping you never should tickle'. Oh."

"Quite, Mr. Entwhistle. That was the dragon, it turned out. Someone tickled it."

* * *

Author Notes:

And that was a one-shot I wrote whilst stuck in the mire over a couple of longer stories, loosely inspired by the Hogwarts school motto, and the idea that it might be referring to a very _specific_ entity.

The new headmaster of Hogwarts is the 'dragon', Smaugufolterix. The witches and wizards of this alternate universe would actually classify Smaugufolterix as a magical being of the species 'true fire drake' (a term which seemed appropriate to me) rather than 'dragon', as he is bigger, older, and more intelligent (and capable of human speech) than 'dragons' as far as witches and wizards define them, although up until this point, true fire drakes were something which were considered myths. As far as someone raised outside the magical world (such as Harry) would be concerned, not bothered by the baggage of wizardly learning, Smaugufolterix is a huge talking dragon.

(As an aside, the name 'Smaugufolterix' is inspired by the dragon in 'The Hobbit'.)

Beyond the removal of Albus Dumbledore, the former headmaster, the staffing of Hogwarts is much as it was in canon. The staff would prefer not to have Smaugufolterix as headmaster, but they would prefer him to grow bored and go on a rampage of destruction even less. Albus Dumbledore objected to Smaugulfolterix, and apart from a few sequins from the robes the previous headmaster was wearing that day, nobody's seen any sign of him since. The current headmaster has a favourite toothpick which looks curiously like the previous headmaster's wand, though...


End file.
